


Cars on a Cable

by alwaysamy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-27
Updated: 2010-07-27
Packaged: 2017-10-10 20:10:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/103796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alwaysamy/pseuds/alwaysamy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>First time. PWP.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cars on a Cable

**Author's Note:**

> Vague spoilers for "Criss Angel Is a Douchebag." Title from Anna Nalick's "Breathe (2 a.m.)".

It turns out that Castiel grasps the basic mechanics of sex just fine. He may not understand _why_ humans do some of the things they do, but he's actually pretty well versed in most of the ways humans spend their time, which is a little disturbing when Dean thinks too much about it.

What rocks his socks, as far as Dean can tell, is how it feels. Apparently, Cas hadn't been at all prepared for that. Which explains why he comes with a hoarse, startled shout just two minutes after Dean gets his pants off.

And that's cool. Dean remembers his own first time, with another person anyway, pretty fondly. There's not much that beats the sheer _ohmygod_ goodness of an orgasm achieved somewhere other than in the shower on your own. Since he assumes Cas hasn't even experienced that much, he can't exactly blame him for the blinking, panting semi-coma that follows as he lies on his back staring at the ceiling.

Dean uses the time to recite dialogue from _The Evil Dead_, since his own erection is a little confused about who called, "Cut!" If he closes his eyes, he's just going to relive the first taste of Cas's tongue. And the surprisingly insistent way his fingers had twisted against Dean's skull as they kissed. And the way he'd shivered and strained for more touch as Dean opened his shirt, worked his way over Cas's chest and throat ... And, well, that won't help at all, will it?

Dean's still dressed, mostly, minus his boots and his button-down, with his T-shirt pulled free of his jeans. Cas is a little more disheveled, but without the trench coat he always looks sort of naked to Dean. His white oxford and his tie are gone, somewhere across the room, and his undershirt is still hanging off one arm. His pants are open and rucked down around his thighs with his underwear, and it's not exactly a dignified look for anyone. Finally Dean rolls to his side and props himself up on one elbow to run a hand across Cas's chest, gently, just soothing.

Blue eyes open and stare at him so intently, Dean suddenly feels naked.

"I apologize," Cas says gravely. His voice is still sandpaper rough, even lower than usual. "That was ... startling."

Dean gives him a sheepish shrug, letting his palm open wider. Cas's chest is smooth, taut, and pale other than the purpled bite Dean left under one collarbone. "I should have warned you?"

"I don't think I would have believed you."

"Fair point." Dean works Cas's undershirt off his arm and tosses it on the floor. "Better?"

"No." He's moving before Dean can blink, and suddenly Dean's on his back with Cas crouched over him. "It's my turn now, I believe."

Dean's about to agree -- wholeheartedly, even -- but then Cas's tongue is in his mouth, and that's even better.

Dean's been having sex for a long time, and not a lot surprises him anymore, aside from that waitress in Tampa, but even he's a little startled by the way Cas attacks. He needs some work on the nuances, sure, but good old enthusiasm makes up for a lot, and Cas is _eager_. Not too rough, not too fast, just determined, purposeful, as if he's going to take Dean apart and examine each piece before he puts him back together.

Dean is totally okay with that.

Cas's tongue is rasping delicately over Dean's five o'clock shadow, and fuck, that feels so good, so stupidly good, the way Cas is tasting him, his hands gently angling Dean's head this way and that so he can reach jawbone, ear, temple, throat. Dean wants to explore some more, too, map out the way the muscles in Cas's back work as he moves, but he's too stunned already, heat rolling over him in slow, steady waves. When Cas leans back and pulls him up to tug off his T-shirt, it takes him a second to understand what he needs to do.

Cas is crooning something in his ear, and he doesn't understand a word of it, but it probably doesn't matter. He's closer to naked now, and Cas is still working on it, unbuckling his belt and opening his jeans, and oh god, when he gets to his dick, Dean is going to have to hold on tight, because he's aroused in ways he hasn't been in ... years. Maybe ever, aside from his first time with a girl. He's shaking already, and lighting up everywhere Cas touches him, kisses him, licks him, nerves tingling like they're brand new.

"Yes?" Cas says, and Dean realizes it's not the first time, that he's been asking to pull Dean's jeans and briefs off, and oh yeah, that's fine, that's perfect. He nods, angling up on his elbows to watch, even though the visual plus the sensation is almost too much. Once his jeans are gone, Cas just looks at him, palms bracketing his groin, his thumbs tracing small circles just below his hipbones.

And he looks, and he looks, and he looks some more, eyes hot blue now, darker, and Dean realizes the low whine he hears is himself, and fuck, that's embarrassing. Until Cas lowers his head, rubbing his cheek against Dean's cock, breathing in him, and holy fuck, that's not what he expected, but he likes it, watches with his lower lip snug between his teeth as Cas noses into the nest of curls, runs his chin along the rigid length of the shaft, finally opens his mouth and takes the head inside.

Dean tenses like he's been hit. It's wet and hot and soft and he's had a zillion blow jobs, but it's Cas. Cas is sucking his cock because he wants to, and that means something, and sonofabitch, he's catching on really quick, too, one hand wrapping around the base of the shaft and stroking steadily. "Cas," he says, and it sounds torn from his throat.

"You like this." It's not a question, so Dean doesn't bother to answer, just groans as Cas spreads his legs farther apart, hands smoothing up and down his thighs, electric against the coarse hair. His cock bobs freely, wet and aching, and oh fuck, Cas is folding one leg up, holding it still while he trails his fingers over Dean's balls and down below them. And oh, it's been a while, since the Chief back in Sioux City, in fact, but he wants it. He doesn't even know for sure if Cas is going there, if he _can_ go there so soon after he came, but Dean's willing to beg. For fingers, even, anything, and he's twitching, groaning, shameless now.

"Cas," he manages again, and it's the only word he knows anymore, because it comes out in a hissing chain, "Cas, Cas, Cas Cas Cas ..."

"Yes," Cas says simply, and gets a hand under one hip to roll him over.

He shudders and buries his face in the pillow, cants his ass up as Cas spreads him apart. His cock hangs heavy and full between his legs, and he wants to touch it, wants to jack it now, hard, but if he does then this will be over too soon, and he really wants Cas inside him first. "Come on," he grunts, and yelps when teeth sink into the meat of one cheek. "Aw, fuck ..."

"Yes," Cas says again, and Dean's groaning out something like a laugh even as the firm, wet tip of Cas's tongue licks into the cleft. He uses his thumbs to pull Dean apart, work his tongue in farther, tasting him, and holy shit, Dean has never felt this exposed, this completely helpless, and it's good, it's so fucking good it shocks him. He claws at the sheets with one hand, and bangs at the mattress with the side of the other, curled into a fist. Cas is licking him so carefully, making sure to press his tongue just hard enough to draw out shocky starts of pleasure, Dean is shaking again. He feels blind with it, every sensation in his body focused right _there_, hot and sweet, and he's still straining for more.

He whines low in his throat when one fingertip traces the rim, smearing the wet around, gently pushing inside. He could keep going, Dean doesn't care anymore, even the burn of a dry finger would at least fill him up, but for the first time Cas hesitates.

"In my bag," Dean grunts, and he wonders if Cas can understand him. He sounds like a mile of bad road. "Lube. You want lube."

He subsides into the mattress when Cas gets up, letting the tension bleed out of his muscles, or trying to. The residual hum of need is still there, though, and when Cas climbs back on the bed, he shivers at the first touch of Cas's hand, stroking the back of his thigh.

"Do it," he says, pushing his ass back and up. "Please, Cas."

"You are so impatient, always." Cas's tone is almost fond, though, and Dean sighs as Cas leans in, breath hot, and sucks delicately at Dean's hole. When he raises his head, one slick cold fingertip circles the rim, exploring, and he adds, "But I think I understand the reason for it this time."

"Yeah," Dean breathes, and sucks in a startled breath when Cas's finger slides in full length. Even wet, it burns for a second, friction and fullness, and he strains not to clench around it, to relax instead.

Cas is crooning again, wordless, Dean thinks, but he's also not waiting, just like Dean wanted -- one finger becomes two after barely a minute, deep, stroking thrusts, exploring the walls inside him, spreading the wetness and pulling him open. After another minute, Dean's hard again, so hard it almost hurts, and when Cas finds the ridged bump of his prostate, he bites the pillow to keep from howling. In the darkness behind his closed lids, he can't stop imagining what Cas looks like, crouched over him, mouthing his ass and the small of his back as his fingers work in and out of Dean's hole.

"Yes, now," he hears Cas say distantly, and he wonders if he was begging, but doesn't really care. Just groans when the slippery head of Cas's cock bumps at him, nudging, pushing. For a second, he freezes. Condom. But Cas is already halfway inside, and Dean's pretty sure Jimmy Novak would have been clean. He is, he knows, and while he's thinking about explaining it all later, Cas thrusts deep, touching home, and he forgets about everything but the solid length inside him.

He usually likes to be standing for this, bent over a chair maybe -- it doesn't leave him as helplessly vulnerable -- but he doesn't care that he's belly-down, and he really doesn't mind that Cas's weight is anchoring him, that the palm planted between his shoulder blades, fingertips just brushing his nape, is designed to keep him right where he is. It's Cas, and it's still unbelievable, shocking and awesome. Cas is grunting now, too, legs spread wide around Dean's thighs, giving him more leverage as he pumps, and Dean can't keep up, can't push back to help, just has to take it.

His brain won't stop, though. It's like the filthiest porn he's ever watched, a lurid loop of images, every dirty thing he wants to do to Cas after this, so he can watch him break in new and incredible ways. He thinks he might be saying some of it aloud -- "suck your cock, Cas, on my knees, ride you, god, lick your balls" -- but he can't help it. The rhythm Cas set is bone deep, endless, pushing deep enough to hurt and then dragging back over that bundle of nerves. Dean's sweating freely, wet all over, and Cas is rasping the stubble on his cheek over Dean's back, licking up the sting afterward, and he can't take it, he can't, it's too much, he's going to burst, disappear.

When Cas drags his hips up off the bed, Dean grunts as the angle changes, starbursts of heat. And then Cas has him, a firm grip on his cock, stroking fast and rough, and he's whispering, too, pressing the words into his neck, "I know what you feel now, Dean, I know how good it is, yes," and that's it. His belly seizes up as his orgasm hurtles up the back of his thighs and into his groin, and then he's spilling thick and messy all over the bed and his stomach.

He's still panting, body humming, when he feels the wet heat of Cas coming inside him, hears the same hoarse shout of surprise. They don't move for minutes after they slump into the mattress, Cas blanketing him, his cheek against Dean's shoulder. Dean doesn't mind that, either. He's floating somewhere, boneless and sated and warm, and he wants to protest when Cas finally pulls out of him, moves away.

"Dean," he whispers a moment later, soft in his ear. "Come with me."

And god, no, he doesn't want to go anywhere, not now, but when he opens one eye to squint, Cas is holding out his hand, ready to lead him to the other bed, where he's pulled down the covers.

He knows he should clean up, get Cas cleaned up, too, but instead he just stumbles into the spare bed. The sheets are cool against his flushed skin, and he wriggles down, getting comfortable, as Cas climbs in beside him and shuts off the light.

"You ... don't sleep." It sounds stupid even to him, even stupider given that he's already slung an arm over Cas, pulling him closer.

"Dean." There's no mistaking the fondness this time, the gentle rebuke, and he sighs out a breath of contentment that's just as shocking as the rest of it. He doesn't do this very often. Hardly ever, in fact, but it feels right in all the ways Cas feels right to him now, appearing beside him in the Impala or in his dreams. He rolls them both, tucks himself up against Cas's back and opens his palm against Cas's belly, stroking idly. He thinks he hears Cas sigh, too, just as content.

He's nearly asleep after a few minutes, but he has to ask. "All night?"

Cas's hand finds his in the dark, twines their fingers together. "All night."


End file.
